


perihelion: part II

by houselannister



Series: perihelion [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beautiful Golden Fools, F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:14:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24198808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houselannister/pseuds/houselannister
Summary: The story continues.Set one year after the events of Perihelion.
Relationships: Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister
Series: perihelion [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746475
Comments: 75
Kudos: 122





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while...

**July 2020. One year later.**

One could say having an apartment in Trinità dei Monti was a privilege. They would be right of course. There was hardly a more coveted spot in the whole of Rome. Privilege and beauty came at a cost however, Jaime Lannister thought as he closed the window looking out on the most popular Roman square. He should have thought that through; little more than a year earlier, as he was scouring the market for something nearby his new office, he had considered himself lucky to discover the penthouse on the opposite side of the square was vacant. A beautiful den with a terrace overlooking Piazza di Spagna.

Barefoot, he entered the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep off his eyes. He switched the espresso machine on – one of the benefits of being in Italy, good coffee was not that hard to come by. Leaning against the counter, he began scrolling down emails. He found a couple that were somewhat interesting – a request for a meeting with Chopard representatives in via Condotti, a follow-up on a meeting from last week regarding the possibility of a joint venture with Tarth Sapphires. _Tarth_ … the name rang familiar. Most of the rest was general Lannister Ltd. business, and he never read those emails anymore. He hated seeing _her_ signature at the bottom.

Coffee in hand, he sat down and messaged his assistant, warning he would be late to the office. Lorenza was her name: short hair dyed flamingo pink, beautiful hazel eyes hidden behind a pair of large, dark-rimmed spectacles. Just out of University, came with all sorts of recommendations. A beep. Lorenza’s reply: “ _You are late every day._ ” Spunky. He liked that side of her. He _needed_ that side of her. He was tired of sycophants.

The clock struck 10 a.m. when Jaime finally stepped into the shower.

The truth was that office had been perfectly functional long before his arrival the year before. They did not need him half as much as he needed them in his half-assed attempt at escaping London. Meetings, phone calls, lunches and brunches were the perfect distraction. And yet, a lot of time remained to think. Too much time.

Then came the pandemic. Just his luck to find himself stuck in one of the countries that had it worse. Cooped up in the house, there had been very little to do _but_ think. That had led to more than a few drinks. Drinks had led to anger. Anger had led to not answering her phone calls when the death toll rose to 900 per day. Even her messages sounded fake now. “Are you okay,” she’d asked. He had not answered, and she had not checked in with him a second time. He assumed she must have heard news of his well-being from other sources. He had to believe that, else it meant she could not care less whether he _was_ okay or not.

And in all honesty, it was a stupid fucking question. How could he be okay, after what had happened between them? Tyrion wasn’t speaking to him, and Cersei herself had all but exiled him on this side of the Channel. Hell, on this side of the _Alps_. Of course Jaime had accepted gladly. He could not bear the thought of staying and watching his siblings tear each other apart. He didn’t feel like he would be of much use, since he had proved he could not help either of them. He was powerless. It was a first for him. Perhaps a first for any Lannister that ever counted shit.

His eyes focused on the water circling the drain between his naked feet for a long time. If he waited long enough, he knew the memories would return. Her sitting by the window, wearing his shirt, solving a crossword puzzle. Her teeth nibbling on the end of the pencil. Her fingers pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her lips stretching in a smile when she realized he was awake and looking at her. Those memories hurt the most, because they had been happy for a fleeting moment. He had really thought it would last. _My own sister, how on Earth could it last?_ The happy memories made it harder to stay away, the happy memories made it harder to hate her. No, he could not afford the happy memories.

Half an hour later he’d picked out a simple white shirt and a pair of black trousers from the closet. It was July, and the Italian spring was in full swing: as he crossed the square, walked past the Barcaccia – the old statue in the middle of Piazza di Spagna – he noticed the women were showing more skin.

A vender tried to approach him, showing a box of lighters. “Accendino?”

“No, grazie,” he said, holding a hand up.

He had learned some Italian, although Lorenza always insisted he speak English because she claimed he was terrible at it. He knew a few key words: _vaffanculo_ meant _fuck you_ , _signorina_ meant _young lady_ , and “Can buy you a drink?” roughly translated to “Posso offrirti da bere?”. Also, an important notion, “Ti voglio bene” was not the same as “Ti amo”, although they both translated to “I love you” in English.

 _Ti voglio bene_ was something he might say to Tyrion: it meant _I care about you_ , and _I will protect you_ . _Ti amo_ was something he might say to Cersei: it implied _I can’t live without you_ , and _When you are not here I’m only half alive_. Details were important. Italians were serious about romance.

“Bonjuorno ufìcio,” he said, with a terrible Mario accent and his hand closed in the typical Italian gesture famous all over the world. The Italian Lannister Ltd office was small, and it had begun to feel familiar to Jaime. It only counted six employees. Most of the decision-making usually happened in London. His father always called them his “efficient errands boys”.

“I am begging you,” Lorenza said, not even looking up from her laptop. “Begging you. Speak English.”

“You always ruin all the fun,” he flashed her a smile walking past her desk. Then he stopped in his tracks and turned to her. “I am really trying to learn Italian, you know, and you are not helping me in the least.”

“Because you butcher it,” Lorenza said, finally stepping away from the computer. This was not the first time they had this conversation. He knew what was coming next, as her cheeks grew redder and she began, worked up: “Dante! Boccaccio! Petrarca!” Jaime rolled his eyes and headed to his office, as she followed him and kept going. “Manzoni! Verga!” She raised her voice, making sure he would hear every name. He was laughing by the time she said, “Torquato Tasso!”

Jaime pointed a finger at her. “Oh, come on now, that was not a real name.” Lorenza sighed profoundly as they stepped into his office. Jaime continued: “I got a lunch with the Chopard team. We’re finally reaching an agreement. I feel good about this, we’re going to break them.” He walked behind his desk. Only when he sat down did he notice the look on Lorenza’s face. “What’s wrong? And don’t say _nothing_. You had that same face when you told me the office plants died during quarantine.”

Lorenza looked at her feet briefly. She was not one to mince words. “I got a call from Downing Street today.”

And to think it was such a good morning.

“Not interested,” Jaime said before she could elaborate on whatever it was Downing Street might have requested.

“But—“

“I said, not interested.” That silenced her. He hated being tough on her, but sometimes she was bossy and persistent. And there were things he, Jaime, could not afford to think about. “Can you please make reservations for lunch? Any of the usual spots will do.” He refused to look at her, knowing what he would meet: pity, disappointment. He was disappointed too, had been for the past year.

“Alright,” she said at last. “How many?”

“I don’t know, call Chopard and ask them.”

He knew she’d left when he heard the door slamming shut a little louder than needed. If his father were here, he would tell him he had given her too much importance, and that no one should dare act like that with their boss, not to mention a Lannister. Jaime, however, had made it his mission to disregard all of Tywin’s lessons. He felt guilty for treating her like that – it wasn’t her fault that the situation was as messed up as it was. Jaime knew the girl was trying to nudge him towards a solution – the problem was, what was broken could not be fixed. Not this time.

* * *

His eyes followed the curve of the woman’s back. She was sitting by the bar, drink in hand, watching her surroundings. She wore a thin, black dress that showed most of her back and promised a lot more. He noticed the way her fingers caressed the stem of the glass, inviting. He’d caught her staring a few times and, at some point, he’d decided to play along. The Hassler bar was his favourite spot, with its old-style atmosphere: not to mention, not many people could afford the place, so he was sure not to be bothered. He was there almost every night, to unwind after a day’s work: the owner knew to reserve a quiet table for him. Every now and then he’d find someone to go home with, too. Tonight might be one of those nights.

It wasn’t difficult for him to find companionship, what with his looks and attire screaming wealth and power. He didn’t always feel like spending the night with someone different every night and he was not in the right headspace for something steady: but he was a man, and a man’s got needs. He had rules however: never blondes and never English. No, that would be dangerous.

He was nursing a glass of scotch neat, when the woman openly returned his stare and smiled at him. He lifted the glass in her direction and mouthed _‘Cheers’_. She laughed and looked down, toying with the tip of her flaming, red hair. Jaime was waiting. He took a sip; it would not take much.

He liked it when they went to him. It made him feel important.

There was tension in the bar. He could not pinpoint what it was, but years training in the military had taught him to look at the smallest signs. The bartender looking anxiously at the clientele, the manager passing by the entrance and glancing inside more than usual. The waiters were distracted, speaking in low voices between them. Jaime took a sip, as his senses became alert.

He had been so taken with what was going on around him he had almost forgotten the girl. When he saw her standing by his table, he smirked. “Posso sedermi?” she asked. _Can I sit?_ Italians never ceased to amuse him: compared to British people, they were so straightforward. He nodded and the girl sat down. “Sei qui per lavoro?” She was asking if he was there for business.

“How do you know I’m not Italian?” Jaime asked. He had learned some Italian, but he couldn’t say it was his forte, as Lorenza never stopped reminding him.

“You look unhappy,” she replied, with a strong accent. “Italians are better at faking happiness.”

The glass in his hand was empty, Jaime felt suddenly very aware of its hollow weight. “You look happy enough,” he said, leaning over the table, curious. “What’s your name?”

“Elena,” she said. Gracefully, she changed seat, coming to sit next to him on the small bench. She wore some perfume, he could not tell the brand but it smelt expensive. “What’s yours?” she asked.

Jaime swallowed. He hated small talk. “Jaime.”

Elena smiled, showing the pearly white of her teeth. “Nice to meet you, Jaime.” He could tell she’d lowered her voice on purpose. Jaime motioned to the waiter, asking for a second glass of whatever the woman had ordered, and another one for him as well.

As they waited, they settled in an uncomfortable silence. Jaime felt her eyes burning holes in the side of his face. “Elena…” he mulled. “It’s Italian for Helen, right?” The woman nodded. He smiled, and added, his voice so low he doubted the other woman would hear him: “Menelaus started a war for Helen.”

If he focused, he could see _her_ , fingers gliding across the golden lettering of some old, leather-bound book, cigarette in hand, guiding him through the labyrinth Storm’s End’s library. _You look unhappy_. He was.

The waiter returned with their drinks. He was a young boy. However, as he put down the glasses before them, Jaime noticed that there was an uneasiness to his stance. Jaime watched him closely: the quiver in his bottom lip, the tremble in his hand. “Are you alright?” Jaime asked.

The boy looked up and straightened his back in a way that reminded him of cadets at military school. “Yes sir,” he said and walked away. Jaime’s eyes followed him until he disappeared in the back. He swallowed: something was not right. He scanned the room once again. There was a man in the room whom Jaime had not seen before. He walked up to a couple sitting a few tables away, whispered something in the customer’s ear.

“Am I boring you?”

He was reminded of the girl sitting beside him. Beautiful, tempting Elena, with her small breasts and red hair, with her expensive perfume and long, round black nails. For a moment, he allowed himself to forget the room. “It’s been a long day,” he replied. She had a beautiful face, and a beautiful body. A body he could picture writhing beneath him. With the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the couple standing up and following the man outside. Jaime realized there was no one left but the two of them now. And he had a distinct, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Elena smiled, toying with the napkin under her glass. “You know, I lied,” she said, amused. Jaime tilted his head, questioningly. “I know who you are.” Jaime sighed. He was about to leave when she put a hand over his arm. “Oh, don’t go,” she sounded truly apologetic. “Honestly, I don’t care about any of that. Please, stay. Keep me company.”

“Signor Lannister?”

Jaime turned. He was looking at the same man who’d come to take the couple away. He looked serious, which only added to his concern. “What?”

“Signor Lannister, il Primo Ministro vorrebbe…” He trailed off. Jaime looked down: the man was holding a phone for him to take. Jaime stared at the screen: he knew, the person on the other end would hear whatever he said now. The silence dragged on. Briefly, he wondered if his heart was beating loud enough to be heard through the device.

“You can tell the Prime Minister I’m not taking any calls.”

The screen went black. He wagered that the other person wasn’t happy, but he couldn’t care less. Hell, the satisfaction almost made up for the need to vomit. The man with the phone hesitated a few seconds, looking around, not knowing what to do. “You may go,” Jaime said, motioning to the door. “I’m busy, as you can see,” he added, pointing at the lady sitting right beside him. That made her chuckle.

“That was hot,” she whispered as soon as they were alone. Jaime glanced down: her hand was resting at his thigh, openly teasing the fine fabric. They’d dropped all pretenses. “Are you staying here at the hotel?” she asked. Her fingertips were dancing across the expanse of his upper thigh now. He felt his body respond to the promise. “Bet I could make you happy… for a while.”

Jaime chuckled, mirthlessly. He wasn’t sure anything could accomplish the feat that easy. He could let her try. Let her take away some of the sorrow for a pitiful hour, and then let her be on her way. He would unburden himself just enough to sleep a dreamless night. That was all he hoped for: one night without dreams.

He stared into that beautiful face, lips curved in a thin smile. She was waiting, hopeful, bright. And then something happened, because her focus shifted, and her face dropped. “Fuck,” she muttered. She was looking over his shoulder behind him, where something was happening.

And Jaime did not have to turn around to know. He heard it. The clanking of heels on marble, the aura of fear in the room. His stomach sank. It wasn’t long before he could smell the presence in the room: the smell of lazy mornings and crosswords. The smell of a tiny hotel room in Hull, or a cigarette put out on the spine of a book. The smell of home, of Casterly Rock.

“You’re a hard man to find.” A woman’s voice. He _knew_.

Elena did not wait around. She grabbed her drink, stood up and left without sparing a second glance. He remained still, staring at the empty seat she’d left behind, terribly aware of whose shadow he was standing in. “And yet here you are.” And finally, he gave himself permission to see her.

There she was, flesh and bone and gold and emeralds. Her hair was shorter, just above the shoulder. Now that she was standing there, it felt as though no time at all had passed. He drank in the sight of her, let his senses be filled and overcome. He let her fill his nostrils, overpower his senses for just a moment. And albeit shortly, it felt right and he felt whole.

Then he saw the men: tall, muscular, well-dressed, surrounding her like a wall impenetrable to the outside, except for him, for Jaime. “Send your dogs away,” he said, abruptly.

“They’re here for my protection.”

“Are you afraid I’m going to hurt you?” It was ludicrous, pointless. _Yet…_ There had been dreams. Violent, unspeakable. There had been times the intensity of his emotions had awoken him and terrified him. He felt betrayed. By her, and by himself. He could never hurt her, not really. What was his hidden self trying to tell him?

Cersei pursed her lips. “Are you?”

Jaime did not answer. She sighed, turned to the one man who seemed in charge of the others and sent him away with a nod. “We’ll be outside, Ma’am.” Jaime wanted to snarl, to tell him his sister had no need of any of them as long as she was with him. They were gone before he could muster the courage.

“You haven’t returned any of my calls.”

“It’s been a busy day.”

“For the past year.”

“It’s been a busy year.”

He was sulking, trying his best not to make eye contact. As long as he kept his distance, emotionally, he could keep out of danger.

Cersei sat down beside him, gracefully. He stared into the bottom of his glass, wishing he could drown. The proximity was as intoxicating as ever, but more importantly, she made him feel alive. After the longest time, his lungs were filling up, his blood was flowing, his heart was pumping. How long had he been dead without knowing?

“She was an escort, you know?” Cersei said suddenly. “The woman you were talking to.”

He scoffed. “She wasn’t.”

“Bet you ten pounds.”

Jaime downed his drink in one gulp, slammed the glass back on the table with a little too much strength. Cersei flinched imperceptibly. “Why are you here, Cersei?”

“I have a meeting with the Italian Prime Minister.” She did not hesitate. Jaime clenched a fist in his lap. And then his sister went on: “And when I’m done, you’ll be on that plane with me. This little stunt of yours has been going on long enough. It’s time for you to come home.”

It irked him, how she thought she could speak to him with such disdain. How she thought herself better than him: more mature, more responsible, more sensible. Of course, now that the country had gone and given them the ultimate satisfaction, she would be insufferable. “Sorry sis,” he said, dripping venom, “but I don’t think I’m quite ready to kiss the ring just yet.”

“For fuck’s sake, Jaime,” Cersei hissed, lowering her voice, and for a moment he saw a crack in her perfect composure. _He missed her_. “Why are you being so stubborn?”

Jaime leaned back against the cushions. The alcohol was beginning to go to his head, but he was far from being drunk. If anything, he felt brave. “Because you’re a bitch, Cersei. Because you ruin everything you touch.”

She looked away.

He knew his target well: those words would hit a vulnerable spot in her. Why should he feel sorry for her? After all, she had not been kind to him either. She had not spared a thought for how her relentless race to power would make him feel. She had not worried about _his_ feelings at all. He had a right to be cruel.

Her hand looked so small, so frail. Perhaps he should take it. _No._ He was sure the bickering inside his head would give him a splitting headache soon enough. And Cersei had gone completely silent since his onslaught. He should say something. _No, she deserved that._

_Did she?_

_She did._

“How many?” she asked, out of the blue.

“Huh?” She eyed the seat left vacant by the girl. Realization dawned on him. _Oh._ Jealousy, Jaime had not expected that. Busy as he was blaming the sister, he had forgotten the lover. “A few.” He shifted uncomfortably.

“Did you pay for all of them?” she deadpanned. Jaime was about to rebuke, but she pointed at the scene that was going on just outside the bar. The same girl, Elena, was following a man to the elevator: he was old, and not at all good-looking.

 _A girl like her, with a man like that_ … He pulled out his wallet from his back pocket, found a ten euros bill. Cersei held out her hand and he pushed the bill in her palm. “Hate it when you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” she said as she slid the money inside her purse.

Then they settled. The vicious words he’d said to her had not been forgotten, but it seemed they had reached a truce of some kind. It took him a while to realize their shoulders were touching and neither had recoiled. He turned his head towards her, and she did the same. “I’m not coming back, Cers,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I can’t watch you destroy the people I love.” He paused. “And that includes yourself.” He stood up, buttoned his jacket. Cersei’s face was inscrutable. “You should go home.”

As he was walking away, he struggled to ignore the ache in his chest.

“Jaime?” she called out. He turned to listen. “Have you forgotten? I always get what I want.”

Cersei stood up as well, stalked towards him. God, he could write a song about her hips, and the way she swayed them whenever she knew he was around, looking, _craving_. She halted, inches from him. His palms were sweaty. He recognized the ringing in his ears. Anyone could walk by. They were standing too close. “And what do you want?” His voice came out raspy.

Cersei bit her bottom lip, stared longer than was proper. Jaime’s mouth was dry. “I’m staying in the presidential suite,” she hinted, head tilted to the side. 

He did not say anything, not right away. He felt his phone vibrate in his breast pocket and he knew what that meant. “Midnight,” he reminded her. “Happy birthday.”

_She was so close. If he could just..._

Cersei chuckled, shook her head and walked past him and outside the bar.

He could smell her perfume long after she’d left the room. It took all the strength he could muster not to follow her.


	2. città eterna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I do like cutting it close, but I also always keep my promises (or pay my debts, whatever whatever.)  
> I don't wanna bore you with a long note, so I'll leave all the author's yapping to after the chapter, which I'm sure you are way more interested in that whatever I have to say! But please do make sure to read the author's note at the bottom, as there are a few important things I want to share with you! <3  
> Later, alligators!  
> f.

**_One year before._ **

_ “Cersei, wait.” _

_ He was following her inside the house, no scratch that, he was running after her. Three steps at a time, up the stairs of Casterly Rock. “Cersei, I said wait.” _

_ “I don’t want to talk to you right now,” she replied without looking back. He knew her enough to hear her voice shaking. _

_ She was fast for such a little thing in high heels. “Cersei,” he called after her once more, as they made their way across the corridor. He knew the way: she was heading for her bedroom. He had to stop her before she reached her destination, else she would lock herself in and cut off all means of communicating with her. _

_ He reached out for her, grabbed her by the elbow and forced her to turn around. She struggled at first, attempting to keep walking. She might have been faster, but he was stronger. Since she couldn’t leave, she decided to lash out. She punched his chest but he barely felt it. “I hate you.” _

_ “No, you don’t.” _

_ “I hate you.” _

_ She was childish but even Jaime had to admit, the reiteration burned. _

_ “I’m the one who’s mad,” he pointed out. Yet he was the one chasing after her. “Don’t turn this around on me.” _

_ “You’re a liar.” _

_ He had been presented with a choice: his brother versus his sister. Two cars, two people who now hated each other. The two people he loved most in the world. It wasn’t fair, no one should have to choose. Caught between a rock and a hard place, he had faltered. Hesitated. Cersei had not forgiven him for that. Perhaps she had expected him to jump into her car right away, no questions asked. _

_ “How am I a liar?” _

_ “You said you loved me.” _

_ The words felt like a slash across the face. He lowered his voice, “I do.” As the acknowledgement rumbled around them, it almost felt like a threat. A dark, unfathomable path neither could stray off. _

_ “But you chose Tyrion.” _

_ “I didn’t.” Truth was, he had not chosen anyone. He had stood there, petrified in front of the prospect, until Cersei had stormed off, mistaking his turmoil as defiance. “You can’t ask me to choose between the two of you. I won’t.” _

_ “Then you already made your choice.” _

_ It sounded final. She resumed walking, and this time he let her go. _

__

* * *

**Rome. Present days.**

He was lucky to be angry, else he knew he would have followed her right then and there. He would have gotten in that elevator and knocked on her door. What would happen then, once she opened the door, he did not want to think about. Instead, he had collected his things – and himself. He had taken a deep breath, closed his eyes and walked out of there with long strides. Like he could fight her, if only he could put enough distance between them.

Back in the apartment, he nursed a bottle of scotch for a long time, battling with the need to drink it all. He didn’t. He knew if he was drunk he would become weak. He could not be weak as long as she was there. It was a temptation. Risk assessment was part of his job: he knew he had to minimize the risk factor. Around 1 a.m. he decided to go to bed. He had switched off his phone – he could not stand the well-wishers, not now. He stared at the ceiling for a long while then, as the heat of Italian summer clang to his skin.

Like a hurricane, she had walked back into his life. In the blink of an eye, all the progress he had made had been swept away. There he was, back to square one. His sister was not the sort of woman one could easily ignore.  _ I always get what I want _ . She’d cornered him.

Once it became clear to him he would not be getting much sleep that night, he got up. It was already 3 a.m. and the sky was dark still, as he looked out the window. The square was completely empty. Looking out, his stare lingered on the elegant façade of the Hassler hotel. He briefly wondered which window might belong to the presidential suite. She was there, in the back of his mind, an image he’d seen often enough to remember. (She slept on her stomach, she always did. Most nights, she’d toss and turn. It took her a long time to fall asleep. In the morning, she’d wake up in a tangle of sheets.) He remembered what it was like to sleep beside her. It had been rare, and forbidden. It had only happened a handful of times in between heaven and hell.

Even now, if he focused long enough on one of the windows, he felt like he could sense her presence on the other side of the glass. He felt something tugging at his core, like a thread that beckoned him forward. He turned his back on the window, eyes the bottle of whiskey he’d abandoned on the counter hours earlier.  _ No _ . He was fighting every instinct, every action that felt natural to him. His body was desperately trying to go back, whereas his mind was keen on staying right there, in the apartment, safe between those walls.

His heart?

It was sending mixed signals.

* * *

The first thing he noticed, upon entering the office the following morning, was the floor: it was littered with confetti. “What on Earth is going on?” he asked right away, using his foot to move the tiny, colored offenders out of the way.

“We wanted to surprise you,” Lorenza explained right away. She looked sour. “Our timing was off.” A pause. “Happy birthday, Jaime.” She was echoed swiftly by the other employees, albeit awkwardly.

“ _ Happy _ .” He snorted. “Afraid that ship has sailed,” he replied, heading for his office. Lorenza followed him, as she always did. “You heard?”

“When the English Prime Minister travels, it’s difficult to keep it a secret.” She was talking fast. “Jaime, about that--”

“No, I don’t want to talk about  _ that _ .” His fingers were about to close around the doorknob when Lorenza’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. It took him by surprise: they were close, but not  _ that  _ close. She would never dare overstep her station with such vehemence. “Excuse me?”

“She’s here.” Jaime’s jaw slackened and he didn’t speak for a few seconds. He looked around: everyone was looking at him, uneasy. Lorenza continued in a low voice. “She’s waiting for you inside your office. She said you wouldn’t mind.”

Jaime was still at a loss, but something suddenly hit him. “The confetti…?”

“Went off right above her head, yes, but let’s not talk about that.” The girl looked mortified. That seemed to improve his mood: somehow, the image of Cersei covered in confetti was… enough to put a smile on his face.  _ She must have hated that _ .

He entered. He found her sitting by the window seat, looking down. How she loved looking down at people: the smaller, the better. She was wearing a white suit, which showed off a generous amount of cleavage. Jaime swallowed, closing the door behind him. The noise alerted her to his presence. She turned her head in his direction, but no more.

“Your hair is shorter,” Jaime said. “I don’t like it.” Cersei smiled. They both knew he was lying.

He walked behind his desk, not bothering to look at her a second time. The leather was warm: he wagered she must have tried sitting down. It amused him to imagine his sister, alone in the room, nervously deciding between the chair and the window seat. His lips curved upwards, secretly.

“Heard you received quite a welcome,” he said, swirling in his armchair. “You have confetti in your hair.”

“Where?” she asked hurriedly, combing her fingers through her golden locks. A few scraps of colored paper fell to the floor. “The fuckers are everywhere.” He caught himself smiling when she wasn’t looking. She was pouting. “I won’t meet the Italian Prime Minister with confetti in my hair. Could you…?” She trailed off, hopping down the window seat and turning her back on him, waiting. Reluctantly, Jaime stood up and walked behind her, examining her hair. He caught a few. “Thank you,” she said.

It sounded awkward, coming from her. She wasn’t usually one for  _ thank yous _ or  _ sorry _ . “You’re welcome,” he said, doing his best to keep it casual. He would not betray the need to hold her. “You didn’t say why you’re here.”

“A truce.”

Jaime took a step back. “There, no more confetti,” he said, ignoring what she’d said. It would give him a moment to think. A truce would be nice. To stop feeling so angry all the time, it would be nice. To enjoy her company once more, instead of wondering constantly what she was up to this time, it would be nice. To trust her again, it would be nice.

“Jaime…” She turned around. She knew the power she had on him, knew what her proximity would cause in him. She was perfectly aware she had the upper hand by means of biology alone. “Please. It’s our birthday. We’ve never celebrated a birthday together.”

It struck him suddenly: she was right. The first year, he’d been the one avoiding her, terrified by his feelings for her. The second time around, they’d been in different countries, kept apart by government restrictions, a global pandemic and an awfully generous amount of resentment.

There he was, cornered once again. He was cold and her body looked warm enough, squeezed in her white number. If he closed his eyes, he could remember what she hid beneath the fabric. The curve of her breasts, her hips, her thighs. All that she concealed from the world was his, belonged to him.

“And then what?” he asked, walking back to his desk. “Wait around for you to stick another knife in my back?”

“In fairness, it wasn’t  _ your _ back, it was Tyrion’s,” she joked. The light amusement in her voice annoyed him. “Listen, Tyrion is  _ fine _ . He’s over it.”

He would beg to differ. Even though it had not been easy to get his brother to answer his phone the first few times around, eventually he’d managed and they had somewhat decided to bury what had happened and move on. After all, they agreed Jaime had not picked Cersei over him: he simply had not picked at all. That was what had driven Cersei to send him miles away after all, wasn’t it? The fact he refused to flat out fall on his sword for her.

Just as he attempted to remember all the less-than-kind words his brother had used to describe Cersei, she extended a hand, unexpected.

“How about that truce?” she murmured. “It’s our birthday. I don’t want to spend it alone.”

He knew her eyes were seeking his. Instead, he focused on her well-manicured peace offer. Those talons looked sharp, and Jaime had no doubt she could find use for them if she wanted. She was a masterpiece of contradictions with her soft-spoken plead.

He did not take her hand. But he would be lying if he said her words had not awoken something inside him. Something that went beyond lust and obsession. She was his twin sister, after all. Twisted and contorted as it might be, he could feel the ghost of her body imprinted all over his.

“There’s a party tonight,” he said, looking away. “I mean, forty-one candles can easily become eighty-two. I’ll have Lorenza arrange that.” He dared glancing up at her then. He saw the defeat as she retreated the hand he had not accepted… but also a glimmer of hope. Her lips curved upwards ever so lightly, a special smile he was sure no one else could see but him. “I’ll pick you up at 8 pm. I’ll bring the car round the back of the hotel so we’ll avoid the reporters.”

She nodded, biting her bottom lip like a child who was just promised a trip to Disneyland. Jaime could hardly believe that same woman was on her way to speak to the Prime Minister of a foreign country, representing a whole nation. He made a mental note to ask her how she pulled it off, winning the election. He was sure there must be something more to the race that had earned her the new position than honest votes.

The phone rang somewhere outside the office. It seemed to be her cue to leave, so she did a little bounce of her heels and headed for the door. Jaime stood there, watching her leave. With one hand on the doorknob, she turned around, a question written all over her face: “Dress code?”

“You’re going to overdress anyway,” he joked, sitting down.

Cersei smirked, pulled out her phone and warned the person on the other end that she was  _ coming down _ . Then she walked out the door like a summer breeze.

Jaime waited to hear the main entrance door slam shut to press a finger against his right temple. “Lorenza?” he called out. The girl was quick on her feet, appearing on the threshold like she knew the woman’s visit would end up turning the world as she knew it upside down. It happened often, when Cersei was involved. He sighed. “We need to talk.”

* * *

Jaime wasn’t sure this was a good idea. Still, he had showered and donned his best suit. He knew he looked handsome. He always did, no matter what he wore. However, he did put an extra effort in making sure his hair was just the right kind of  _ effortlessly _ tousled. Every now and then he would steal a glance in the rearview mirror to be sure everything was still in place. A couple times he caught the driver staring and looked away, embarrassed.

“Sir, would you like me to turn on the air conditioning?”

Jaime grimaced. A subtle reminder that they’d been waiting for twenty minutes now, parked right outside her hotel. At least. People had come and gone from the fancy entrance, but none of them had been his sister. He did not want to call or text her, he’d hate to seem desperate. On the other hand, if she stood him up now it would be rich.

It  _ was _ pushing 35 degrees Celsius.

“Yes, thank you.”

The relief was almost immediate. His stomach was still knotted, but perhaps he would be able to avoid the perspiration.

Ten more minutes went by. His wrist watch read 9.05 pm. They would be late. That morning he had received a call from her Chief of Security, a man named Osmund, making inquiries about the night. At first it had felt like an invasion of privacy, but eventually Jaime had been forced to explain in detail.

He began to wonder why he had given in to her. Surely, he did not want her to spend her birthday alone in a foreign country, but it was more than that. He  _ wanted _ to spend time with her. It had been so long since they had had a chance to speak. No matter how much he resented her for what had happened between them, he craved her attention. And he was basking in it, now that she seemed hell-bent on having him back. It had been the other way around for so long.

The sudden commotion by the entrance caught his attention. He shifted in the leather seat, trying to catch a glimpse of the hall. Then he saw a group of men, all dressed in black, and the tiny blonde-haired woman they were shielding. She was so much shorter than all of them, it made him smile. They exited the building in formation, surrounding her. They accompanied her to the car, made way for her to step inside and slammed the door shut once she was safely inside. A tall, broad-shouldered, black-haired man sat in the front of the car. Cersei was rummaging for something inside her purse. “That’s Osmund,” she said, “I believe you’ve spoken to him on the phone. He’s my Chief of Security. Seems I can’t go anywhere without bodyguards.” There was annoyance in her voice.

“But you’re with me,” Jaime said. It pissed him off: there was no protection in the world he wasn’t able to provide. After all, he used to be the Chief of Security when Aerys was Prime Minister.

_ Yes, and you killed him _ .

“Please Jaime, don’t make a fuss. It’s useless, they won’t budge.” She sounded tired, exhausted. He eyed her, carefully. “Plus, you won’t even know they’re here.”

“They?”

Jaime turned just in time to see three cars pulling up behind them, and two more driving ahead.  _ A motorcade _ . Of course, it was standard procedure whenever a head of state was on the move. He had forgotten: Aerys had been so paranoid he simply stopped leaving Downing Street at some point.

The motorcade began to move.

Jaime pressed his finger on the button down his armrest, and the partition glass began to slide up. When Osmund heard the buzzing, he turned, as if to complain, but Jaime smiled at him until his face disappeared behind it.

“He won’t be happy about that,” Cersei said, amused, once the glass was shut.

Jaime too was smirking.

They settled in an uncomfortable silence. There was so much Jaime wanted to tell her, but most of all he wanted to kiss her. He was angry, but he still wanted to kiss her. She was looking outside the window. As they left the city behind them, there were less and less lights outside. Soon enough the motorcade was moving across the countryside.

He took a moment to drink in the sight of her. She had picked a green dress for the occasion. The generous cleavage made up for the loss of leg under the fabric. He didn’t dare to touch her, but from a distance it looked like silk. Jaime had always liked her in green. She always looked regal in red, unattainable in gold, innocent in white, and hot as fuck in black. But he liked the green because it reminded her of her eyes.

She turned to face him.

Yes, green was definitely his favourite.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said, deciding to ignore how she’d caught him staring. “Up until the very last moment.”

“I almost didn’t,” he replied, choosing honesty.

She laughed. “Sorry it took me so long, I got a call from Taena and it dragged on.”

The mention of Taena Merryweather cooled the atmosphere, unwillingly taking them back to that day, on the stairs, when she’d asked him to choose. Briefly, neither spoke. This was probably a good time to address it, but Jaime did not feel brave enough.

“Everything good?”

Cersei sighed. “Nothing she can’t handle by herself,” she said, waving a hand to dismiss the issue. She shifted, turning her whole body to him. “Let’s not talk about work.”

“It’s funny how you say  _ work _ like it’s just any other desk job,” Jaime pointed out. “Fine, let’s hear it. What do you want to talk about?”

A dangerous question, he knew. He wanted to rattle her cage and watch her reaction. She scooted closer, and Jaime went rigid. She noticed, and stopped midway, a glint in her eyes that came with knowing you have power over someone. That had been his first mistake of the night: now she knew he was vulnerable.

“I just want to spend the night with my brother,” she said, innocently. There was nothing innocent in the way she angled her body, purposefully alluring. “Is that so strange?”

The motorcade came to a halt. Jaime let Cersei’s question linger. Answering would be useless. She knew perfectly well what she was doing. Someone tapped gently on Cersei’s window. A man’s voice from the outside: “We have arrived, Ma’am.”

“Let’s not keep your guests waiting, shall we?” she said, opening the car door.

Jaime watched her step out. He took a moment to take a deep breath before following her. As they walked inside the building, they were surrounded by Cersei’s guards. It felt suffocating. In a sudden urge of pride, he grabbed her by the hand: he wanted to remind everyone that as long as she was with him she would have no need for further protection.

Once inside, the building turned out to be a restaurant. All the tables were empty. Cersei squinted. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

A waiter escorted them across many empty rooms. At some point, Cersei’s security detail took a step back and stopped following them. Cersei noticed it and tugged at Jaime’s hand. “Jaime, where is everyone?”

They finally stepped out onto a small balcony, looking out onto a lake surrounded by round hills. The sky was pitch black. The surface of the lake reflected the hundreds of tiny lights coming from the town nearby. There was a table finely set for two.

Jaime felt Cersei’s fingers tighten.

“What about the party?” she asked, tentatively.

“I just wanted to spend the night with my sister,” he said, walking towards the table. “Is that so strange?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah well, you know what they say, always keep them wanting more.
> 
> So, here we are, there a few things I want to say about how we're going to do this - and with this, I mean the installment in general. 
> 
> I am just going to say it: I will not update part 2 weekly. As much as it pains me to say this, it is a committment I cannot take right now for reasons that escape my control - mostly work related. I simply do not have the time right now for that sort of schedule. I will do my best to try and update at least twice a month though, and I am utterly committed to finishing the story, so don't worry about that: it may take a little longer but hey, you know what, it just means we'll have more time to spend with the characters and the story! The way I see it? Win-win!
> 
> Secondly, because of the above-mentioned issue, I have created a twitter account that will make it easier for me to communicate with you, and viceversa. Because I no longer have a precise publishing day, this account will help you navigate the story. For instance, if you want to know when the next chap will be released, or if you want to read a lil sneak peek of what's to come, that's the place to be. So be sure to follow @perihelion_new on Twitter! I will always read and reply, and hopefully try and satisfy your needs at the best of my abilities.
> 
> Okay, now that the nasty bits are out of the way, I wan to to thatnk yo uall once again for always being so generous when it comes to this story. The anticipation, the tweets, the comments, I can't describe what it means fro a writer to see such excitement surrounding a project of theirs. It's unbelievable, and you all do so much for me every day without realizing probably. From the bottom of my heart, thank you to the moon and back.
> 
> f. 
> 
> PS  
> I know I have some unfinished business with some of you (you know who you are) I've been super busy but I will contact you very soon, and once again thank you for offering to create things for this story and putting your expertise into it! I appreciate it immensely.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, this sure feels like coming home. I just couldn't wait to give you a taste of what's coming, so I decided the time was ripe for a little teaser of the second installment of the story! I wanted to upload this on may 12h because, well you know, May 12th.. but life gets in the way. Anyway, hope you enjoy this little treat: can't wait to embark on the new adventure with all of you!  
> Thank you Cait, for the impeccable eye; and thank you Nadia, for the 12 minutes long reviews. :)  
> I'll see you darlings in September for the rest of the story! Can't wait!  
> Loads of love,  
> f.


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